Pacifying Ellie Spratt
by MissTempleton
Summary: A chance encounter while out for a swim drags Phryne into defence of a young woman's reputation.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

The Honourable Phryne Fisher was, the Polite World (apart from one or two of the stuffier elements with whom we won't concern ourselves) agreed, Absolutely Fascinating; and few people agreed with that judgement so heartily as Senior Detective Inspector Jack Robinson. Just lately, though, his fascination had been focused on one particular aspect of Miss Fisher (or, to give her her alternative title, Mrs Robinson), to a degree that might justifiably be described as Obsessive.

It was not her bewitching eyes, or her glorious cap of smooth black hair; it was not her quick wit or equally quick draw with a pearl-handled revolver.

It was her abdomen.

Most mornings, before leaving for work, he would examine it so closely that she generally succumbed to a fit of the giggles – unless she slept through the whole process, which was not at all unknown. The examination was generally of an amorous rather than a clinical nature, and occasionally resulted in a gentle-but-firm talking-to for the individual contained therein.

She generally bore the experience patiently, because after all, the palpable joy (on the part of one to whom solemnity was Standard Operating Procedure) that she had not only agreed to essay the minor miracle of childbirth but had also magically engineered – with a degree of assistance from him – the necessary stage in the whole palaver (her word) of becoming pregnant, was making life an awful lot of fun and very nearly made up for her loss of interest in the taste of gin.

Once he had left, though, it was her habit to get up and go swimming. 221B The Esplanade being handily placed for the beach, the chance to swim in the sea was one that the whole household would avail themselves of regularly; Jane, her adopted daughter liked the afternoons when the sun had been on the shallows for a little while, and Jack would simply take any opportunity when free time presented itself. Mr Butler may have been a swimmer, but there were no witnesses; and if Phryne's new maid, Lin Soo, decided to go swimming, she would decide personally who would be permitted to watch.

Miss Fisher liked the mornings.

If she was awake early enough, she would find she had the beach to herself, and so there was no-one around to be shocked by the revealing lines of her preferred bathing-suit.

People being shocked about things was so tedious, requiring as it did the energy of actively ignoring them.

One otherwise blameless Wednesday, the barely-there New Life having been sternly adjured to behave itself and the Inspector having left, whistling, to attend City South Police Station, she got up, donned her costume, a loose-fitting cotton shift and sandals and strode out to the beach. It was only with a slight inward sigh that she noticed another figure on the sands, also wandering sea-wards. It was, at least, dressed in a loose-fitting frock like her own, and women were usually less bothersome company.

As she started down on to the beach itself, though, she glanced up again at the woman, and realised that there was something odd about the way she was walking. It was not the idle stroll of the lady of leisure in a pleasant environment; and it was not the purposeful stride of the athlete intent on exercise. It was, instead, a slow but determined walk straight towards the water. Some instinct had Phryne quicken her pace, and as she did so, the woman came to the water's edge. Without pausing, she carried on walking, fully clothed, into the sea.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Phryne broke into a run, hampered only by the softness of the sand and the loose fit of her garments. Impatiently, she stopped, kicked off the sandals and dragged the dress over her head and flung it to the ground. She then started a full-on sprint to the water's edge.

Once she got there, though, she hesitated in internal debate. Instead of shouting at the other woman, she followed her at a normal pace, gradually catching up as her more encumbered quarry started to stumble through the shallows. By the time she was up to her waist, Phryne was swimming a steady breast stroke alongside her.

"Hello," she said in a calm, friendly style. "I'm Phryne. What's your name?"

"Go away," said the other woman harshly. Phryne could now see that she was quite young – certainly not yet twenty – and passably pretty, with long blond hair hanging loose around an oval face marred by tearstains.

"No, I'm not going to do that," said Phryne, gently. "I'm here to swim, so I'm going to carry on doing so."

The girl glanced at her, confused and angry. "Can't you just leave me alone?"

"Afraid not," said Phryne simply. "Sorry. It's just that if you carry on walking into the water wearing all those clothes, you'll probably end up sinking and drowning, which is going to be terribly embarrassing for me because I'll have to admit I watched you do it. I don't suppose you'd come back to the beach for a minute and chat about it?"

"No …." the girl muttered. "You don't understand. You couldn't possibly understand."

"Try me," offered Phryne. "I'm generally regarded as unshockable. It wouldn't be a man, would it, by any chance?"

The girl glared at her.

"I'll take that as a 'yes', then," remarked Phryne. "In that case, we're definitely going back to the shore, right now. Come on. There are a few men in this world who are worth a great deal of trouble but I can guarantee that the one that's brought you to a position waist-deep in sea water in that nice frock is not one of them."

She drew her feet under her, and stood. She held out her hand in a friendly way.

"Come on."

The girl hesitated, and took the hand offered, and they walked together back to the beach.

As they reached the sand again, Phryne took a sideways glance at her companion and decided to risk a further test.

"I don't know about you, but I'd love a cup of tea while we chat. My house is that one over there, can we go and get warm?"

Her reward was a vague nod, and so she grabbed her dress and slung it over her shoulder, pushing her feet into her sandals as though it was the most normal thing in the world for two women to wander the strand in St Kilda, one in a soaked dress and the other in nothing more than a swimsuit, holding hands.

 _Aunt Prudence would have a field day_ , she reflected wryly.

When they arrived at 221B the rest of the household was stirring, and the door was opened without her needing to ring the bell. There stood her new maid, Lin Soo, dressed in her smart uniform of black dress with mandarin collar.

"Good morning, Soo," said Phryne politely, with a slight wink to allay any concerns Soo was highly unlikely to have been entertaining at her mistress turning up with a half-soaked stranger in hand.

"My friend and I would like some tea, but first I think we both need a hot bath."

"Yes, Miss," said Soo with a smile. "Your bath is ready, and when I saw you approach, I took the liberty of running one also in the guest bathroom, in case it should be needed."

"Excellent, thank you," said Phryne warmly, and turned to her as-yet-nameless foundling.

"Soo is my maid, and will look after you. Soo, please find our guest a frock to put on while hers is laundered, and some shoes – I think Jane may be able to lend her something?"

Soo led the girl away, who now appeared to have entered an almost trance-like unresisting state. Phryne bathed herself and turned her wardrobe upside-down for the most unthreatening ensemble she could find.

Arrayed in blameless navy, she was seated at the dining table with a newspaper and a suitably prosaic cup of tea ( _oh, for a coffee!_ ) before her when Soo brought the girl back downstairs, now dressed in one of Jane's plainer day-dresses and sandals, hair freshly and carefully washed.

Nodding dismissal to the maid, Phryne poured tea.

"Here you are … I'm sorry, I'm so silly, I still don't know your name! You must think me very strange."

The girl gave her a clear gaze.

"My name's Ellie, and the only strange thing is that you've been so kind, Miss. People aren't, usually."

Phryne shrugged. "I'm glad to have got you out of the water, that's all – especially if there was a man at the bottom of the problem."

She raised an eyebrow at Ellie. " _Is_ there a problem?"

"Yes," said the girl bluntly. "I'm expecting."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Phryne had difficulty swallowing her mouthful of tea, and wished to high heaven that her maid was still Dot, who would have been able to manage this conversation in the universal language of Women Over Tea. Unfortunately, Soo's skills lay in less domestic areas, so as neither assault nor petty larceny was called for, Phryne was left to venture alone into the potentially lethal area of Motherhood. Had it been in conducted in Hindi, she could not have felt more wildly out of her depth.

"And I take it the louse is not accepting his responsibilities?"

"You could say that, Miss – he's run away to sea."

Phryne tipped her head. "It's perhaps as well. If he'd remained on land, he would have had a very short life expectancy once I caught up with him."

At this, Ellie gave the first actual smile Phryne had seen, and instead of looking like a bedraggled waif, resembled the promising young woman she could be. She wasn't entirely sure whether Phryne was joking. (Phryne was quite sure that she wasn't).

"Forgive the next question – I take it you want to keep the child?"

Mistake. Ellie was reminded of her state of mind only an hour earlier, and tears started in her eyes.

"I must. If I live, I must. Either way, I'm done for. I'm a Catholic, Miss, I can't take the child's life."

Phryne immediately understood the girl's quandary. Having conceived, her only possible course was to bring the child up – whether in or out of wedlock. Anything else would compound her sin with one far worse – to which she had apparently been committed before Phryne intervened.

"Catholic or not, taking your own life isn't the answer either," she said briskly. "Now, do you have a home to go to?"

"I live with my mum still. I'm the youngest, though, and it's just mum and me now."

"Nowhere to hide, then?" Phryne smiled understandingly, and received a tentative smile in return. "Have you told her?"

"No!" said Ellie violently. Then, more calmly. "No. I couldn't. It would kill her – and I'm not just pretending it," she said defensively as Phryne raised a quizzical eyebrow. "She's got a weak heart. Been a martyr to it all her life. The least thing has her laid up in bed."

Phryne was still sceptical of the supposed 'weak heart' that had let a Catholic mother bring up a long family, and suspected the tyranny of phantom illness, but arguing that particular point wasn't going to get her anywhere.

"All right, then. I'm going to go and see a friend who may be able to suggest something. In the meantime, once Soo's dried your clothes, go on home – but come back for lunch tomorrow. By then, I'll have thought of a way round the problem." She was overdue seeing Dr Elizabeth Macmillan anyway, and Ellie's problem was one that Mac saw all too often – usually too late to save either mother or child.

Phryne stood, and Ellie stood up too.

"Thank you," said the younger girl awkwardly, smoothing her hands repeatedly down her borrowed dress in nervous gestures. "I – I'm not sure I could have done it anyway. They say that drowning's a peaceful death, but I don't see how any death can be peaceful. I don't know what it was that made you come and talk to me, but I'm so very glad you did."

Phryne smiled again. "We'll think of something, Ellie, you mark my words."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"Come on, Mac, even you have to be allowed a swift gasper at some point," pestered Phryne.

Recognising that this was an argument she wouldn't be allowed to win, the doctor put down her scalpel, washed her hands and reached into her pocket for her cigarettes. They strolled out of the building and found a shady tree under which to sit and chat.

Phryne briefly explained the problem, and Mac nodded absently. The tale was, sadly, not a new one.

"So, she can't get rid of the baby; and she can't legitimise it in the eyes of her religion. Beats me why she thought that suicide was an improvement on either of those options, though."

"I'm not sure she really did, Mac. She was mostly just helpless."

"I take it the Magdalen isn't an option?" asked Mac, though she already knew the answer.

"Mac, go and wash your mouth out with some of that loathsome institution's laundry soap. If the poor girl was feeling suicidal this morning, sending her to a place specifically designed to make her feel judged and found wanting is practically guaranteed to put the nail in the coffin," replied Phryne crossly.

"Sorry. Does your aunt need another maid?" suggested Mac.

"I don't know. Worth a try, perhaps – and she does love a baby. Good thinking."

Mac took a final puff and stubbed out the cigarette.

"What about you?"

Phryne gave her a sideways look.

"What _about_ me? I'm fine. Wishing I still liked gin but apart from that, fine. No nausea – on the contrary, I'm eating like a horse. Mr Butler's thrilled."

Mac said nothing, but looked at her directly and waited.

"Mac, I'm fine. It's all very, very strange, and very new, but I made the decision without any pressure from anyone, and I'm committed to it."

She leaned back on her arms and gazed into space.

"I know what you're thinking, and you're right. Would the _Honourable Phryne Fisher_ ever have been expected to get married and have a child? Of course not. Left to myself, I'd still be living the life of Riley, exploring all the wonderful new alternatives to Lin Chung that might present themselves."

Then she tipped her head at Mac and grinned – a proper, irreverent, devil-may-care Phryne grin.

"But I wasn't left to myself. Jack arrived. He didn't muscle in, didn't try to take over, just gradually became indispensable, and showed us both sides of ourselves we didn't know existed. Oh, I wouldn't have married him so quickly if it hadn't been for the Gervase Carstairs affair – but I think I'd have realised eventually that married We Should Be."

The grin became a smile of the kind that Mac hadn't seen before.

"I still don't think I'm ever going to be one of life's natural mothers, Mac." She broke off and slapped her friend's arm in response to the snort that brilliant example of self-awareness elicited. "But I'm interested, and it's a responsibility I can handle. And Jack is …. I've never seen him like this."

She stood and faced her oldest, closest friend.

"We're going to need some luck to get us through this thing, I think – but not as much as you might imagine." Then she sobered. "And not nearly as much as poor Ellie's going to need. I'll let you know how I get on with her and Aunt P. Thanks, Mac."

They hugged, exchanged a mock salute, and parted – one to reconstruct the living, the other to deconstruct the dead.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The Inspector was mystified but gratified to receive a warm hug from Mrs Robinson when he came home that evening. Never one to turn down an opportunity, he responded equally warmly, but when eventually he was released, enquired mildly what had Brought That On.

She took his hand as they sat on the window seat in the parlour.

"Let's just say I had a salutary remind of my blessings this morning. I came across a girl who was proposing to walk into the sea and not come out again – all because her loathsome boyfriend had got her in the family way and then upped and left."

His response was to draw her in to his side and wrap a comforting arm around her waist. "Tell me."

She told the story, and described Mac's suggestion.

"Good idea," he agreed. "Have you spoken to Prudence?" Ever since she'd started making free with his Christian name, he'd felt entitled to do likewise.

"Not yet," answered Phryne. "I wanted to see what Ellie thought of the idea first. If she's feeling vulnerable, the thought of going into service might push her over the edge again. She's coming for lunch tomorrow to talk properly."

The following morning, though, the telephone rang just as Phryne was descending the stairs for breakfast. She watched Mr Butler answer it, and then hold out the receiver to her.

"The Inspector, Miss."

Giving him a quizzical look, she took it.

"Hello, Jack. Forgotten your cuff links again?" she teased.

"Phryne, no, I'm sorry, it's bad news. Your attempted suicide from yesterday? You said she was blonde haired, probably under twenty?"

"Yes, that's right," said Phryne, stifling a sense of foreboding.

"I'm afraid she may have succeeded this time. A young woman was found in a boat house on the Yarra early this morning. She'd hanged herself."

Phryne collapsed onto the chair beside the telephone table.

"Phryne? Are you there?"

"Yes, yes Jack, I'm here. But I don't believe it. Can I come to the morgue?"

"I was hoping you would. We don't have much to go on to identify her, so if you can give us a first name, that'll be a start."

"I'll be there within the hour," she promised, and replaced the receiver with mechanical carefulness.

"Miss?" Mr Butler appeared before her, a cup of coffee in his hand. He proffered it, and she took a grateful sip. "Is everything all right, Miss?"

"No, Mr Butler, everything is potentially All Wrong. Jack thinks he has a suicide to deal with. If it is, as he thinks, the young woman who I found at the beach yesterday morning, it would mean that in the space of a few hours she had somehow lurched from rational hope to irrational despair once more. And I don't believe that has happened."

Both Mac and the Inspector, though, were looking solemn when she arrived at the morgue. Wordlessly, Jack took Phryne to the slab and held her hand while Mac uncovered the face of the deceased. Phryne swallowed hard.

"Yes. That's Ellie. I'm sorry, she didn't tell me her second name. Her family's Catholic, she's the youngest and she was still living with her mother. That's about all I know."

Mac shook her head. "It seems so awful that she could relapse like that."

"I don't believe it, Mac!" Phryne burst out fiercely. "She wasn't happy when she left my house, but she was on the way to being contented and hopeful. She simply could not have relapsed so quickly. It must be murder." She turned to the Inspector. "Jack, she was murdered. You must see that she had to have been murdered?"

Jack took her hand in both of his, stroking it in a vain attempt to comfort her.

"Phryne, you did a marvellous job yesterday, and nothing can take that away. But Mac says there are no signs of her having been restrained, or drugged. No sign at all that the person who did this is anyone other than the victim herself. Suicide is horrible, but it happens."

"Not to Ellie," replied Phryne firmly. "You don't understand, Jack – she's a Catholic. If she's done this, they won't even give her a Christian burial."

She turned back to the body.

"Let me at least look at her wrists and ankles."

Jack nodded to Mac, who shrugged and pulled back the sheet; but no matter how closely Phryne examined the pale limbs, there was not the least hint of bruising. Phryne frowned, covered the body over again, and stood for a moment, lost in thought; her friend and her husband watched her warily.

"Did you check inside her mouth?" asked Phryne suddenly.

"I had a look, yes – there was nothing introduced into the airway. Death was from asphyxiation by the rope around the throat," Mac confirmed.

"Can I have another look?"

Mac dutifully prised open the victim's jaw, and at Phryne's request, produced a little torch to shine into the mouth.

"There!" said Phryne excitedly. "What's that?"

Mac frowned, and leaned in to see where Phryne was pointing. Then reached back to her instrument tray for some fine tweezers, in order to retrieve the item. When brought into the daylight, it proved to be a tiny fragment of fabric, which she held up for them all to examine.

"Unless she'd decided to make her last meal a silk scarf, I'd say you've got evidence pointing to murder, Inspector," announced Phryne triumphantly.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

"So, who do we inform? How do we find her mother? She's presumably next of kin?" asked Jack.

"Well," Phryne thought aloud, "unless you fancy touring the docks for information on a miscellaneous youth who's just taken ship," (the Inspector shuddered), "I'd suggest you try the Catholic churches, starting with Richmond. Then, perhaps, South Melbourne – but I'd guess Richmond."

"Sounds fair," he admitted, "but why Richmond?"

"The boathouse, for a start. If it was a trysting-place for Ellie and her lover, it's likely to have been within walking distance of her home." She gave him an assessing glance. "Will you accept help from Dot and me, Jack? I want to get to the bottom of this. The only thing left that I can do for Ellie now is prove that she didn't take her own life."

Phryne may not have been suffering from nausea, but Jack's stomach had definitely started churning. _Yes, Miss Fisher, please_ do _plough in to help me track down a potential murderer while you're carrying our child_.

But this was the deal, he told himself sternly. This was always going to have been the deal. He could no more ask her to give up investigations for the duration of her pregnancy than he could ask the Chief Commissioner to let him sit behind a desk making paper aeroplanes for the next seven months.

"Of course," he replied, hoping she hadn't noticed his hesitation.

(She had, but as the answer was what she wanted, she'd decided to let the matter rest – for now).

"We can get Hugh and Dot to cover their own doorstep in South Melbourne while you and I take you back home to Richmond?" she suggested mildly. He agreed the logic, and the plan was made.

Mrs Collins was, predictably, horrified when escorted by her husband to City South for a conference.

"That poor girl! Yes, of course Hugh and I can go and ask at the church, but I don't think she was of our congregation. I can't think of an Ellie at all." They hurried away, leaving Mr & Mrs Robinson to venture out to Richmond in the Hispano-Suiza.

"Ellie?" ruminated the priest, when they managed to track him down. "Could it be Ellie Spratt, you mean? She must be, oh, around nineteen now, I'd think. A delightful girl – a great help to her mother." He willingly provided an address, to which they found they could walk from the church. The house was tiny, and Phryne wondered how on earth a large family had managed to cram themselves in.

Mrs Spratt, when she came to the door, exacerbated the question. How, wondered Phryne, could anyone else at all fit into the house with a lady of such extraordinary girth already ensconced? Her manner was far from welcoming, and it took all of Jack's determination to avoid having the interview on the doorstep.

"I'm sure I don't know why you think I can help you, Inspector," the woman grumbled as she led the way to her kitchen. Ignoring them, she heaved her bulk onto a sturdy chair at the head of the table – clearly her accustomed spot from which to direct activities. "We keep ourselves to ourselves, Ellie and me."

Phryne, meanwhile, was prowling the room, and pounced upon a photograph sitting on the dresser. A family group, it had a slightly more svelte Mrs Spratt holding court in the centre, with nine children of various ages distributed round her, dressed in punishing Sunday best.

"Just you and Ellie is it, Mrs Spratt?" she asked.

"S'right. That's her, sitting on my knee. Mr Spratt was killed right at the start of the war, so I've brought them all up myself," she said virtuously.

"Do you happen to have a more recent photograph of Ellie, Mrs Spratt?" asked Jack carefully.

"Couldn't rightly say," was the disinterested reply. "You can see her yourself, anyway – she'll be home soon. Went out before I was awake this morning." Then she frowned. "Come to think of it, she didn't come in until after I'd gone to bed last night, either. I'll tan her hide for her when I see her. Out gallivanting with that young man of hers."

Then she slapped a hand on the table. "I tell a lie – there is a photo, you know. They went to Luna Park and there was a fella taking pictures. Ellie got him to take one of her and Fred."

She pointed imperiously. "Look in the middle drawer of the dresser there."

Nothing loth, Phryne did as she was bid and after only a little shuffling through what was obviously the makings of a family album, if only someone bothered to do the work of sticking them in, she unearthed the picture in question. Looking up at Jack, she nodded – it was Ellie, all right.

Jack cleared his throat.

"Mrs Spratt, I'm afraid I have some bad news …"

The woman was disbelieving, then upset, then moved swiftly on to self-pity. Unbelievably, her chief concern appeared to be that there would be no-one to look after her.

"Can you tell us more about – Fred, did you say?" asked Jack, doggedly trying to get a word in edgeways amidst the outpourings of woe.

"Yeah, Fred. Not much," she shrugged. "Said he worked at the University, but I don't know what he does for 'em."

"You … don't happen to know his last name?" hazarded Phryne.

"Not a clue, love," came the reply. "Only met him once. Not like he's going to be much help to me now, anyway."

Mrs Spratt was evidently one of those people who sit at the centre of their own universe; and as such, it became increasingly clear that she would be of little further assistance to the sleuths. They excused themselves, but asked if they could borrow the photograph.

They then sat in the Hispano, staring at the picture glumly.

"A dead girl; a runaway boyfriend; and a mum whose only concern seems to be who's going to wait on her hand and foot in future." Phryne looked at Jack. "We're not exactly awash with likely suspects, Jack. How on earth do we go forward?"

He tapped the photograph against his fingers pensively. "We need to know why she went to the boathouse. Clearly, she didn't tell her mum she was going; and if she didn't commit suicide – _yes, all right_ – AS she didn't commit suicide, she had to have been going to meet someone. If the place is used regularly by the same person, we might get lucky."

He tilted his head at her.

"Can I tempt to you a little boating trip tomorrow, Mrs Robinson?"

She grinned. "They do say that all the nice girls love a sailor, Mr Robinson."

He caught the hand that was reaching for the self-starter, and kissed the fingertips. "Then I have to hope you're not a nice girl," she narrowed her eyes at him, "because I'm no sailor." She giggled, floored the accelerator, and spent the evening reassuring him on that important point.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

When he took the oars the following day, she discovered that he hadn't been expressing false modesty. After he'd caught several crabs, she lost patience and told him to swap seats with her. His pride fought with her determination, but in the end he had to admit to himself as he trailed his fingers in the water that there were worse ways to spend a working day than idling about in a boat on the edges of the Yarra with the delicious Miss Fisher.

It took her only a few minutes to bring the boat in to shore almost opposite the boathouse where the murder had taken place; an overhanging tree provided them with cover, and they settled in for a long wait. As Miss Fisher had firm views on such matters, Mr Butler had been prevailed upon to provide a picnic.

"Who owns the boathouse, anyway?" whispered Phryne, as she generously slathered a scone with butter and jam. She then placed it in his mouth, which rather hampered his reply.

"It's disused, but it's owned by the University," he managed, once he'd swallowed his mouthful. "I think it came with a parcel of land – not sure it's ever been used by them for its intended purpose."

"Is it worth following up with the University, do you think?" she mused. "I mean, I know young Fred-the-louse has flitted, but maybe someone can shed some light on what happened. Whether he had friends or family."

He nodded. "We could at least find out what job he did, and who he worked with. Maybe someone else knew Ellie too."

He reached for another slice of the raised pork pie, another of Mr B's specialities. As he did so, though, Phryne gripped his forearm.

" _Jack, look!_ "

As they watched, a figure came walking briskly along the river path. It was hard to tell whether it was man or woman, so closely was it huddled in hat and coat with collar upturned. The person was tall, though, and the long stride was masculine.

Looking neither right nor left, it made straight for the boathouse and disappeared round the back, towards the entrance.

"Can you get us across to the other side of the river?" whispered Jack urgently.

"I think so," she replied, and lifted the oars. Bending to the task, she headed diagonally upriver; he quickly appreciated her purpose when the current gradually caught them and pushed them downriver. By the time they were approaching the opposite bank, they were almost exactly opposite the point at which they'd started.

There was no cover, though – it was almost fifty yards downstream to the nearest overhanging vegetation.

"Hang on, Jack – let's get the boat as far as that shrub to tie up to," urged Phryne in a low voice.

"No time," he muttered. "Let me off, and take the boat down there. Can you tie it up by yourself?"

"Yes, of course, but wait a second, let me …."

She turned to reach to the bank for some handhold, to keep the craft steady while Jack went ashore.

He failed to wait for her to do so; once again demonstrating that although he could be useful in all sorts of ways on ocean liners, he was not the shipmate of choice for anyone navigating a small craft.

One foot was safely on the bank, the other in the boat, and he leaned to try and grab a handhold among the grass. His weight shifted forward, and he instinctively pushed with his back foot.

Phryne could see what was going to happen, and was powerless to stop it; she prepared for the inevitable by wrapping one arm tightly round her waist, and raising the other hand to cover her mouth, the better to stifle her giggles.

Senior Detective Inspector Jack Robinson made an appreciable splash when the inevitable disjunction of boat and bank became greater than the length of his stride.

Mrs Robinson wept with laughter, and rescued his hat as it sailed past her, before once more reaching for her oars.

A tall figure exited the boat house, unnoticed either by the (mostly) dry sleuth or the drenched one.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

No words were uttered on the journey to return to the boat to the hire shop; nor as the Inspector got into the car, ignoring the likely effect of Wet Policeman on its smart leather upholstery; and certainly not when she pulled up outside 221B. Mr Butler had heard the engine and opened the door to them; his jaw dropped at the sight of the Dripping Detective, but a glance at Miss Fisher, whose eyes danced as she held a finger to her lips, had his poker face restored in an instant and he helped the Inspector out of his overcoat as though it wasn't twice its normal weight and getting them ahead with the next scheduled mopping of the tiles on the hall floor.

Jack squelched upstairs. Phryne stopped to whisper to Mr B that the picnic basket was still in the car, and crept after her husband.

Not until he had surfaced from an extended period ducked under the surface of the hot bath she drew for him, took the glass of scotch she handed him and sipped it gratefully did he look her in the eye.

"The worst part is that whoever it was got away."

Deciding that least said, etc, etc, was probably the most tactful approach, she agreed.

"We'll just have to move on to plan B, Jack. Go and ask the University about their former employee who's suddenly decided that a life on the ocean wave is more fun than polishing dreaming spires, or whatever it was he did for them."

By the time Jack emerged from the bath, Mr Butler had magically spirited away his wet clothes and left replacements laid out; and Jack took a moment to wonder what on earth he'd done before he had a Mr B to look after him. The memory was, however, so dim, so distant and so utterly devoid of Miss Fisher that he decided not to linger over it.

"Then I'd like to get Collins back again, and Dot if she can join us. We could end up having to interview the entire staff of the University, so the more people we have, the better."

His suggestion was welcomed with alacrity, and a telephone call was all that was required to encourage Mr & Mrs Collins – or, in professional terms, Senior Constable Collins and Miss Dorothy Williams – to meet them at the University.

As the University had already been observed to welcome Careful Drivers, the Inspector took the wheel of the Hispano. Miss Fisher whiled away the journey spotting traffic infractions on the part of other motorists, which became more and more ridiculous as time went on.

"She clearly can't drive. She's going far too slowly for safety. I demand you arrest her instantly, Jack."

"Inspector, can't you arrest him for having a very loud sign on the side of his van? Last time I checked, people are entitled to peaceful enjoyment of their property and there's nothing peaceful about O'Malley & Sons' taste in advertising."

"I'm quite sure he doesn't have a licence to carry that chicken in the front seat."

Suffice to say that when he pulled up outside the University buildings, he had to spend a few minutes with his face buried in his hands before he felt quite able to present the necessary solemnity to the academic authorities.

"Sir?" The worried face of Constable Collins appeared at the window. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, Collins, thank you," Jack responded, manfully ignoring Miss Fisher's mutterings about how properly to apply the handbrake when turning on gravel.

Instead of marching through the front door, they decided to try the Servants' Entrance – or rather, the door at the back of the building marked "Estates Manager".

The Estates Manager was wearing a smarter suit than Jack's (albeit Jack wasn't in his best suit, because being on a case with Miss Fisher was rapidly proving destructive in the suit department) and had an abrupt manner that suggested someone who Got Things Done.

"No, Inspector, no staff missing, I'm happy to say. All present and correct," he announced firmly, and stood as though the interview was over.

Jack prevaricated. "Are you sure? You must have a great many people to supervise – isn't it possible that one has failed to report for work, and simply been overlooked?"

The pitying look was thinly veiled. "Inspector, you may have difficulty keeping track of your men – I know where every one of mine is from one hour to the next, every day, and the first thing I hear of in the morning is the failure to report for duty of one of the staff."

Jack could almost trace the mud of the trenches in the man's demeanour.

"In that case, sir, I'm sorry to have wasted your time. What I would like to do, though, is – with your permission – waste some of ours."

"What on earth are you talking about, Inspector?"

"There is a man who claimed he worked here who has now gone missing. We would like to speak to him in relation to a recent crime," said Jack cagily. "If it is at all possible that one of your men has seen our suspect, that would help us a great deal."

The man clearly thought that the police must have more time to waste than he originally supposed, but he agreed to allow them free rein, even going so far as to suggest the places at which the greatest concentration of his very diverse team might be found.

They split up; Hugh and Dot started with the kitchen staff and Jack and Phryne in the grounds. Both couples had a copy of the Luna Park photograph.

The grounds staff were marvellous, thought Miss Fisher. The weather was warm, and they were generally engaged in the trimming of one of the long hedges while stripped to the waist. She let the Inspector ask the questions while she stood to one side, smiling admiringly.

The Inspector was slightly less enamoured, not least because none of them had seen either Ellie or Fred.

"If there's any more of that, I'm confiscating your illegal copy of _Lady Chatterley_ " he muttered as they walked away.

"Oh, Jack, don't be such a spoilsport," she grinned.

As they returned to the main building, they met the Collins' hurrying towards them.

"Miss!" exclaimed Dot in an urgent whisper. "Miss, we've found something!"

Jack looked to his constable. "What is it, Collins?"

"Sir," he was as excited as his wife. "It's about that bloke Fred. One of the cleaners recognised him."

"So he _does_ work here?" asked Phryne.

"Not in the way we thought, Miss," replied Hugh. "He's not an employee – he's a student. Or rather, he's just finished being a student. She – the cleaner, that is – thinks he's very clever. He's studying medicine. His name's Frederick Hawkins."

"And – let me guess," asked Phryne, "He hasn't run away to sea?"

"No, Miss," confirmed Dot. "She thinks he's usually in the lab around now."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The lab being clearly signposted, they found it with no difficulty; and it was deserted apart from a very tall, fair-haired youth in a white coat and safety glasses, working at one of the benches.

"Excuse me, sir?" asked Jack. "Is your name Frederick Hawkins?"

"It is," the man replied bluntly, without looking up.

"I'm Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, and this is my Senior Constable Hugh Collins. We are being assisted in a case by the Honourable Phryne Fisher and Miss Dorothy Williams, private detectives."

"Charmed," was the response, still without eye contact for anything other than the vials and flasks in front of him.

"We'd … like to ask you about Ellie Spratt."

"Ellie? Yes. Quite pretty, but she had become a nuisance," remarked Hawkins, remaining entirely focussed on his work.

Jaws generally dropped among the sleuths at the dismissive tone the young man employed.

"You perhaps aren't aware, Mr Hawkins, that Miss Spratt was found dead in the early hours of yesterday morning," said Phryne carefully.

"Found dead? Oh dear." He certainly didn't _seem_ surprised, she thought.

Jack decided that it was time to take control of this unorthodox interview. "Yes. Her death was made to look like suicide but we have good reason to believe that she was, in fact, murdered."

"Yes, that's right." The comment was accompanied by a tut, but whether that was for the death of the victim or an unexpected outcome of the experiment was not clear.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Yes, she was supposed to have drowned herself on Wednesday morning but the silly girl didn't go through with it, and so I had to do the job myself."

Jack was starting to wonder if he was dreaming.

"Can you explain what happened, then, Mr Hawkins?"

"Oh dear, haven't you worked it out yet? I sent her a message to tell her to meet me in the boathouse as usual. By the time she got there, I had a noose rigged up from the beams, and when she threw herself at me as usual it was easy to slip it over her head. The only tricky part was that she started screaming. I hadn't allowed for that, and so I had to gag her with my cravat. There's a hole in it now – I went back there today to see if I could find the scrap of silk, but it wasn't there. It would have stuck in her teeth, I suppose?"

Jack nodded wordlessly.

"And that's how you worked out it was murder. Well done, Inspector. You're not completely stupid after all."

He turned back to his work.

Phryne recovered first.

"Why?"

"Why what? Oh, why did I kill her, you mean? I've already told you. Do try to pay attention. She was becoming a nuisance. I've been offered a research fellowship at Sydney, so my pretence had to end." He looked up and smiled at her charmingly. "I was sorry about that. I had rather enjoyed playing the role of Rude Mechanical, and she wasn't a bad Titania on the whole. But obviously, I couldn't have her hanging around any more. And when she told me she was pregnant that really was the end."

Jack's jaw clenched, but he nodded to Hugh Collins and the pair of them moved forward.

"Frederick Hawkins, I am arresting you …"

"Oh, I don't think you are, Inspector," Hawkins smiled gently. He unscrewed a flask from the stand in front of him. Something from a childhood chemistry class popped into Jack's mind, and he flung out a hand to stop Collins in his tracks.

"Oh, well _done_ Inspector! Yes, you're right. This is chlorine gas. It is, as you perhaps recall from your dim and distant schooldays, highly toxic. If I were to drop this glass flask onto the floor, it would smash and we would all die. No, Miss Fisher, please do not move towards the door – I can open my hand and let gravity take its course much more quickly than you can run the required distance."

He removed his safety glasses with his free hand and started to walk across the room.

"I am going to walk out of this laboratory, carrying this flask. You are not going to interfere with my progress in any way at all, or we will all die, and the world will have lost one of its brightest scientific minds." He smiled at Collins, whose face was pale and palms sweating as he tried to edge in front of Dot.

Steadily, Hawkins moved to the door, and as he backed through it, gave a quick, dazzling grin.

"Constable – catch!"

So saying, he tossed the flask vaguely in Hugh's direction, before disappearing through the open doorway.

Hugh moved instantly, hands outstretched, and managed to just reach the flask as it fell. His hands, though, were damp with sweat and the glass slipped through them, somersaulting back into the air.

At the same time, Jack had thrown himself towards Hugh, and landed heavily on the floor at his feet; as he rolled, his hands rose to meet the falling flask, which settled comfortably into his grasp.

For a moment, he rested on his back, the flask clasped to his chest, his eyes closed. "I thought you were meant to be the one who could play footy," he muttered to Collins.

Then he moved the flask to one hand and rose gingerly, before thrusting it at Phryne.

"Hold that. Please don't drop it. Come on, Collins!"

The pair of them sprinted out of the door in pursuit of the departed scientist.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Dorothy soon found a mercifully prosaic cardboard box into which Phryne could place the flask, and at an only slightly more dignified pace (Dot being in low heels and Phryne being able to run in most footwear, with the possible exception of stilts, which she hadn't yet tried) they took off after the others.

They didn't have to run far. It turned out that Hawkins, although he might have been the greatest scientist the world had ever known, was no athlete, and had managed to trip on the stairs leading from the science rooms. When they arrived at the great front door of the building, they saw both policemen restraining him, hands cuffed, and dragging him towards the police car.

"Perhaps you'd like to follow us under your own steam, Miss Fisher?" called the Inspector politely as he forced the scientist's head down to enter the vehicle.

"I'll try to find someone to warn about the flask, but then we'll be right with you, Inspector," she promised firmly.

By the time Fisher & Williams had reached City South, though, most of the interesting work had been done; any suggestion that the Inspector had been anxious to have Hawkins safely ensconced in the cells before Miss Fisher was able to get her hands on him was almost certainly an exaggeration.

"Where is he, Jack?"

Perhaps not an exaggeration.

"Locked up, Miss Fisher. Awaiting trial for murder, and hanging."

"I can save you the trouble."

"No, you can create a lot more. He's going to hang, Phryne, and have the chance to contemplate the prospect beforehand."

"He'll try to pretend he was of unsound mind. You know he will, Jack," she fumed.

"If he does, I'm quite sure that the University will be able to produce serried ranks of academics who will vouch for his ability to reason perfectly well. Let it go, Miss Fisher." The Inspector faced her off from the opposite side of his desk.

She gave her inconvenient husband a fulminating look, and left his office abruptly, closing the door with a degree of delicacy that gave a hint of the scale of her anger. Her business partner caught her up as she sat in the Hispano, gazing into space. Dorothy slipped into the passenger seat, and sat next to her in companionable silence.

After a few minutes, Phryne squared her shoulders and looked across at her passenger.

"So, Ellie Spratt can rest in peace, at least."

"Yes, Miss," said Dot. "They'll say the Mass for her and everything. I'm going to make sure of it."

"Thank you, Dot."

Another pause.

"The Inspector's doing the right thing, Miss," offered Dot hesitantly.

At this, Phryne smiled wryly. "He always does, Dot – he always does."


	11. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"You didn't want me involved, did you, Jack?"

"Of course I did! I …" he was silenced by A Look.

Palms up, he admitted defeat.

"No. No, I didn't. I still don't. Hell, Phryne, we could all have died in that science lab. I want to wrap you in cotton wool for the next six months or so. Is that so awful?" She looked away, but he covered her hand where it rested on the dining table. "I'd rather you focused on the fact that I didn't object. I can't object, Phryne, I know that."

She lifted a shoulder, then tried to lift the tone.

"How about if I promise, the next time someone fires a gun at me, I'll shout for help instead of sticking a knife in his shoulder?"

As hilarious one-liners went, that one ranked high in the Lead Balloon stakes.

He gave a twisted smile back.

"I think you shouldn't make promises you aren't likely to deliver on."

She really should remember that it was Jack she was talking to, thought Phryne.

Rather than try to argue the point further, she got up from the dinner table, took his hand and led him through to the parlour. Her taste for strong spirits apparently having vanished for the duration, she brought her wine glass with her and watched him pour a scotch for himself.

He settled on the couch, and she sat next to him; after a moment, she slipped off her shoes, turned and lay down across his lap. Her head rested on one of his arms, and his other hand laid the glass down in order to caress his new favourite part of her anatomy once more. She watched through half closed eyes, noting the way in which the fabric was starting to stretch where it had previously hung fashionably loose.

"Some of my clothes already don't fit any more. If you start wrapping me in cotton wool I'm going to be so big I'll need a whole new wardrobe."

"Look on the bright side – Madame Fleurie will be ecstatic," he remarked dryly.

"I don't think Madame Fleurie has designed anything for the expectant mother in her entire life. In her world, women don't have children." The tone was joking but the smile didn't reach her eyes.

He set himself, there and then, the task of keeping her smiling for the remainder of her pregnancy. She was his Phryne, after all – how hard could it be?

He then reminded himself that he liked a challenge.

"Okay then …" he sat back and started enumerating options.

"Not cotton wool. How about … fresh, cool, Egyptian cotton?"

"I'm not planning to be that kind of mummy, Jack."

"Good point. Silk?" His free hand lifted one of hers and started kissing the fingertips in turn.

"Mmm … sounds nice. Might be a little constricting when I want to move around." Her tone was becoming more of a purr.

The kisses started to progress to the palm of her hand, and then to her wrist.

"Kisses?"

She gave an involuntary shudder as he arrived inexorably at one of her sensitive spots.

"Not something … I can exactly … wear… out of doors … _Jack_." She was becoming oddly breathless.

"Kisses it is, then."

A giggle from the occupant of his lap suggested that Inspector's mission was, at least for the time being, accomplished.


End file.
